


Thicker than Blood

by Wickueler



Series: The BafEK protocols [2]
Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 09:30:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10896513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wickueler/pseuds/Wickueler
Summary: The Federal Agency for Multidimensional Cultural Heritage, short BAfeK (Bundesamt für extradimensionales Kulturerbe) is Germanys prime place-to-be when it comes to dealing with weird shit. Which is fortunate, because weird shit is quite literally what is becoming a threat to the little village of Müllerslage, when local farmers decide to fuck with the inhabitants of the adjacent moor. In this escalating situation Amtmann Dr. Erich Köhler, veteran wizard of the BAfeK, is send with the strict order to keep violent death to the absolute necessary minimum.





	Thicker than Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the first title of the series for some background info on wtf I'm doing here! https://archiveofourown.org/works/10846092

Chapter 1 – Surface Tensions

Although it was the darkest of night, with thick clouds cloaking the sky and at least 4 hours to come until dawn, the man drove with no lights along the empty countryroads. This was no easy task, as such roads can become quite narrow, especially if they are a bit off. But the man knew the area by heart and some deeds require to be carried out unseen. ‘It would be nice though’, the man thought by himself, ‘if they could also be carried out unsmelled.’ Behind him, tied to the massive, state-of-the-art John Deere tractor, a trailer filled with semiliquid-manure, pigshit or Gülle, as the German would call it, rumbled across the poorly paved road. 

This area of lower-saxony was famous (or infamous) for its large industrial pig farms, so there was no shortage in Gülle ever. Quite the opposite, actually, as the fields that traditionally were sprinkled with Gülle as fertilizer, had been oversaturated in nitrogen and other nutrients for years, up to the point where the groundwater became contaminated. In some areas, the contamination was so severe that fertilizing was restricted by the local authorities, and the pig farmer were now sitting on an ever-growing mountain of pigshit that had gone from valuable fertilizer to toxic waste. The proper way to deal with the problem for the man would have been to hire a disposal company that could have brought the Gülle over to the low-countries, were one could have dealt with it accordingly. But this would have been quite expensive and the man was absolutely not inclined to accept that some weird bureaucrat would make some stupid law and suddenly he was to pay ten thousands of Euros a year to get rid of shit. So he and his brother had come up with a better plan.

The man now lighted up a pen sized, focused LED flashlight and scanned the forest rim to his right until he saw the sign. NATURSCHUTZGEBIET! – natural reserve area. It marked the entrance to a narrow, unpaved trail cut by forest workers. The man turned his tractor to the right and followed that path. His brother, who had done the track the night before, had described to the man the path that lay before him in detail. He followed the trail that ran parallel to a little milling creek for half a kilometer, turned right again and led his massive vehicle deeper in the network of channels and ponds that are used to control the water fluxes within the Hahlener Moor. The man made good speed and in the light of his LED he could see small animals and the occasional deer flee in terror. Driving through the dark forest gave the man an almost mesmerizing feeling of timelessness, but it could not have taken him more than 15 minutes to reach his final destination. A little lake of maybe less than 200 m in diameter that, to the man’s knowledge, no one had ever bothered naming. The man performed a three point turn on the little shore and brought his trailer in position. It was then, when he switched off the tractor engine, that he heard a strange noise.

The man immediately switched off his torchlight, climbed down from the tractors cabin and listened carefully. Had some villagers seen the light and called the cops? But what he heard was no car in pursuit. There was a guttural gurgling and bubbling that sounded like many throats drowning in a chorus. And then there were squishy splashing sounds, suddenly all around him. The man felt fear rising and was about to light his LED again when he suddenly realized that he could see. A silvery shine seemed to waft over the forest clearing. The man needed some seconds to locate its point of origin and was confused to learn, that it was the surface of the little lake, really a pond rather, that radiated light as if a full moon would have shone on it. But there was no moon, neither full nor half. All celestial bodies were still hidden completely by a thick layer of clouds, and while the man searched the sky for an explanation, it actually started to rain a little. A fine but persistent drizzle that was bound to wet him all through in a matter of minutes.

The man suddenly realized that the weird light phenomena had made him forget about the strange noises and that the gurgling and bubbling was now all around him, while the splashing had all but stopped. Did he run into some teenager sexparty? Those were not too uncommon around the countryside, were clubs were rare and the woods often the only place to hang out in peace from annoying adults asking stupid questions like “Do you use a condom?” or “Are you sure it is legal what you do with your cousin there?” If he ran into a band of village kids he might be in trouble. They loved spreading rumors about illegal waste deposition more than old women would do. He narrowed his eyes to make out the source of the noises in the silvery shimmer but could see nothing but dancing shadows, so he switched the light back on.

As the cone of light materialized, he immediately came to regret that decision. No three meters in front of him stood a… something. It had the height and silhouette of a man, but its skin was bluish, and the limbs seemed to be at least a quarter longer than usual. The man could see gills at the creature’s cheeks and little fins where the ears were supposed to be. Thick green hair that looked like see grass framed a face with huge, dark and pupil-free eyes and a round hole bearing sharp teeth, where the mouth would have been at a human. That mouth now grew wider as the creature emitted another gurgling sound and started advancing towards the man.

The man knew what he had seen. A Wassermann or Neck, a waterdemon that lived in tales and fables and lures wanderer to lone lakes where he drowns them. It’s the kind of tales parents tell their children when they want to drive home the point about not wandering away to far from the parental home. Just until somewhat like 20 seconds ago, the man was firmly convinced that Necks do not exist outside of fairytales. But that had been before he observed one coming at him with what looked like some kind of razor-sharp knife, so he was open to reevaluate that claim and turned around to flee. It took him no three steps to get back to his tractor, hastily climbing up the ladder steps to the cab. But when he looked up to the controls of his vehicle, he saw that the cabin was already occupied. A second Wasserman was sitting there gleefully playing with the buttons, then looking down on him and almost casually kicking him in the face with a huge webfoot.

The kick in itself wasn’t especially painful, but it came with enough force so that the man let go of his grip around the ladder and fell on his back in the grass. Before he could get up or make any move at all, the man could feel the sharp edge of a knife held to his throat, and three alien faces appeared in his field of vision. The gesture was universal enough for him to not dare using a single muscle in his body. They had him. He could feel them lifting him up halfway from under his arms dragging him away but had no idea where they would be taking him. Not until he heard the splashing of the lake and felt a sudden frosty bite of water on his back. The last thing the man ever saw was the lone Wasserman sitting in his tractor, still experimenting with the controls.


End file.
